“That’s amazing,” I say. I dig into a piece of fish and practically die of happiness as the buttery meat melts in my mouth. “What’s your favorite place you’ve travelled so far?”
“Tahiti for me,” Russ answers.
“I was going to say that!” Yara cuts in.
“I don’t know, nothing beats the Amalfi coast,” Gia swoons, her eyes practically turning to hearts.
“Gia, is that where you’re from?” I ask.
“I’m from Portugal,” she says. “Yara too. She got me a job on the Vela Bianca a year ago after we met on a charter boat in Croatia.”
As we dig into Russ’s insanely delicious meal, I learn that he was a sous-chef for a Michelin star restaurant in London before he decided to trade it in for yacht life. He met Allie three years ago when they were both working a charter in the Bahamas and wanted to travel the world with her. In fact, almosteveryone on the crew has a story of leaving their old careers behind for a life of adventure on the open ocean. I drink in their stories like a Cloud Nine Piña Colada. What must it be like to give it all up, to give a middle finger to everyone else’s expectations, and take a risk on the life of your dreams?
I’ve been so focused on becoming a professor since high school, I never even considered another option. But I think that maybe in another life, I would have loved to do something like this—something unorthodox. I would have loved to travel the world and paint portraits, landscapes: anything to capture the beauty that doesn’t translate in a photograph.
But something stops me from running to get it. I’m not an artist- not anymore. I don’t even know if I could sketch from a photograph, let alone a vibrant, bustling scene like this.
“So what kind of art do you do?” Gia asks as if reading my mind. Classic Jules to talk me up to strangers when she hasn’t seen my work in years. I wonder what exactly my sister told her.
“I used to work with oil and charcoal, mostly,” I tell her.
“Do you ever do portraits?”
“Once upon a time,” I tell her. “But it’s been so long, I’m not sure I remember how.”
I think of the brand-new sketchbook waiting in my cabin. This is the kind of moment I’d love to capture—warm, vibrant, bursting with laughter. Needless to say, I feel more comfortable down here with the crew than I probably ever will with the Warrens.
“I’ll be your guinea pig!” Jim raises his hand. “Someone’s got to capture the glory of this mustache.”
He smooths down the edges of his 80s cop ‘stache and we all laugh.
“Do you still have that hula outfit from Honolulu?” Gia asks him. “If you’re going to be immortalized, you’d better be wearing something fantastic.”
“No, no, you don’t need to wear anything,” I laugh, then correct myself. “Well, you should probably wearsomething.I think the honorable Captain Caleb might object to a naked portrait session on board.”
“Maybe it’s just what he needs to get him out of sergeant mode,” Yara winks.
“Think he’d let me borrow his hat?” Jim asks, raising a brow, and Russ lets out a loud chuckle.
“NowthatI’d like to see. Whatdya say, Stella? Think we can pull it off?”
“Jim,” I stand up, assuming my best angry captain posture and mustering a (decidedly terrible) New Zealand accent. “Where is your walkie? And what in God’s name have you done with your trousers?”
Jim and Gia burst into near hysterics, but are interrupted by Russ loudly clearing his throat. I’m about to ask him what’s wrong when a familiar voice has me whipping my head back round to the staircase.
I turn to see Captain Caleb standing at the bottom of the stairs, his hands on his hips like an angry schoolteacher.
“What’s going on here?”
His forehead is deeply creased with a frustrated expression I’ve come to associate with him in general. One that tells me I’m definitelynotwelcome here. My stomach flies into my throat and I sink, more likewither,into my chair.
“Coming to join us, Caleb?” Russ offers, rising from his seat.
Caleb glares at me, and I feel his gaze like it’s burning a hole in my stomach.
“Relax, Cap. Boss isn’t here yet, and Stella missed the tender to the island,” Jim says in my defense.
“It doesn’t matter if she’s here or not. You all know damned well guests aren’t allowed in crew quarters.”
